


Feel It

by Niler



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-28 16:38:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2739503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niler/pseuds/Niler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn's a little prick</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feel It

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first part of a series of interconnected shorts that were designed to lead to a complicated tale of er Ziam type ...shizz. In the end I only wrote this one and the companion (which I'll post tomorrow)

 

They’re making snacks in Tommo’s house. Everyone calls it Tommo’s house because that’s what it is – officially. Unofficially it’s the house he and Harry share and home from home for all the boys. It’s just easier when half the band are already there (well, 2/5th of the band, then). Logistically it’s just easier meeting up there.

Niall’s gone home (to Ireland) and he and Liam haven’t decided yet whether they’re staying the night. He’s got toothbrush and all that good stuff in the car, not wanting to s _ay_ he’s staying when he might change his mind.

  
Becky’s at home with her family and they haven’t spoken today. He misses her energy when he’s away from it, but it’s a different energy he gets being with the lads – wholly familiar, but never boring or routine. He and Becky often run out of things to say to each other, and while it’s not exactly awkward he knows that _she_ finds it so – still tries to fill the silences, where he’d rather just sit in the silence, sit with his thoughts. They’re still learning each other and he’s enjoying the lessons, just sometimes wishes she knew him as well as the other lads do, that he understood her as well as he understands Louis or Liam.

  
And sometimes he just thinks that she’s falling in love with him and he’s not quite sure what to do about that. It’s not that he doesn’t have feelings for her, he just isn’t ready for anything that deep right now.

  
But he’s already learned that love isn’t exactly something you control – you can try, but in the end you can’t ever really make it what it isn’t; can’t force it, can’t stop it flowing, no matter that it flows red like the blood from an unstaunched wound at times and hurts like hell.

  
“So you’ve learned to cook.” He smirks up at Liam, who’s got such a ridiculously earnest look on his face he wants to laugh or pinch his cheeks.

  
“I was taught, yeah.” He can talk about Danielle sometimes – when he’s the one bringing her into the conversation, but it’s a subject best left alone, really.

  
“Well, you can do this lot, then.” He pushes the plate of unbuttered bread toward him.

  
Liam snorts. “I don’t exactly call a plate of sandwiches cooking.”

  
“Oh don’t worry, I’m starting you on the nursery slopes. Next time we’ll go on to boiling rice.”

  
“I can boil rice!”

  
“Sorry, white guys cannot boil rice.” He shrugs apologetically. “Well known fact.”

“Well then, black guys can’t either!”

  
“Half white,” he corrects, matter-of-factly.

  
“Quarter, actually, and are you implying that it’s the white blood in him that makes him unable to boil rice?” He’s buttering bread as he’s speaking - arguing.

  
Zayn, watching his hands, grins. “Yeah.” And meets his eyes as much as if to say: and what you gonna do about it?

  
Liam looks at him, a smile on his face and it’s obvious he can think of absolutely nothing to come back at him with. “Racist,” he finally decides, the mildness of his tone at odds with the accusation.

  
“No, _I_ wasn’t the one who made white guys unable to boil rice.” Putting hands on Liam’s waist he squeezes, whispers in his ear. “Blame _that_ guy.”  
He should move away, of course, but he likes being close to him, loves what his proximity does to Liam’s breath.

  
Liam goes really still for a second, breath caught, then, ears slightly reddening, resumes his task. “I don’t think it was _God_ who made some people shit at cooking.”

  
“No, it was their mums spoiling them.”

  
“I am not spoiled!” he protests, stopping and turning a little until their faces almost touch.

  
Zayn rests his chin on Liam’s shoulder. “Did I say you were?” Liam’s eyes are lovely – so mild and kind. Sometimes they’re different, though; when he’s turned on or experiencing some deep emotion he’s trying hard to suppress. Zayn likes the fact that he brings that out in him more than anyone he knows. There are currents between them that the others _think_ they see, but in truth really have no clue are there.

  
“Yeah, but that’s your gift, isn’t it, mate – the gift of saying without ever _actually_ saying.”

  
The silence between them isn’t actually silent at all, but full of unspoken words; words that are heard and understood nevertheless.

  
He slides his hands down to Liam’s hips, pushes them deep into his pockets.

  
They both hear Louis coming at pretty much the same time and Zayn has time enough to move casually to the side, pick up a knife, a tomato, turn unhurriedly to greet their host.

  
“What the fuck are you two doing, _growing_ the veg? Come on, man we’re starving!”

  
“Another pair of hands would be useful.”

  
The look on Louis’ face is priceless. He doesn’t even bother to answer.

  
When the door closes behind him they look at each other and grin. “Better get on with this then or our lord and master will probably throw us out on to the street – unfed, unwatered.”

  
Liam grins. “I only wish that wasn’t an actual possibility.”

  
“Just be grateful he isn’t Niall, cos I guarantee that if we kept him waiting on his food he’d get an Uzi…”

  
“I am going to _tell_ him you said that!”  
  
**  
  
Their hosts are playing some ultra competitive game on the Xbox and he and Liam have been sent back to the kitchen to clean up.

  
Louis and Harry are terrible hosts – free and generous with their home, but they don’t see them as guests, so expect them to wash and clean up after themselves, get their own beds ready, wash their own linen.

  
Might as well have been in his own bloody house! Plus he probably does more chores here than he’d ever do at his house. Still, it’s really nice being here with them – and Liam. His house sometimes feels just way, way too big.

  
It’s nice having Becky there when she visits, stays over, but it isn’t the same. He recognises this when he sees the way Louis and Harry are. It’s still like being with a mate, where with Becky – and any girl, most likely – it isn’t.

  
Nice, yeah, but…something definitely missing. A level of comfort, relaxation perhaps. He’s still not ever wholly himself with her, not the way he is when he’s with the lads.

  
“I’ll wash, you dry.” Liam throws him the tea towel, so clearly it wasn’t about to be put to a vote. The thing is…

  
“You do know they have a dishwasher, right? I mean Louis wouldn’t have a dishwasher?”

  
Liam gives him a narrow look. “Well we _could_ put these few plates through the dishwasher, yeah. Take about 30 seconds to do that, wouldn’t need _both_ of us. But if you'd really rather-“

  
Yeah, okay, he gets the point.

  
He flicks him on the arse with the tea towel.  
  
  
**  
  
Well, he thought _he_ was anal about cleaning, but Liam puts him to shame.

  
“Fuck’s sake, Li, even _Harry_ doesn’t go that far.”

  
“What? I’m just cleaning.” He’s washing out the cleaning cloth. “I like a tidy kitchen.”

  
“Everyone likes a tidy kitchen, they just don’t make a military _operation_ of it.” Liam’s always been a bit thorough in the way he does things, but he’s never been _this_ enthusiastic before. Zayn assumes he’s started in on this ever since he and Danielle split. That’s probably the sort of thing you did to cope, to be fair.

  
Putting an arm around him he leads him to the table. “I’ll make some tea.”

  
“Fancy a beer, to be honest. Any in the fridge?”

  
Raising a brow he merely says, “I’ll have a look.” The fridge is filled with more than two guys could devour between them in a month! There’s lager - no beer - but other alcoholic beverage too. “We got cider, Tennents, Skol, Stella, some Champagne-“

  
“You what?” Liam’s come to have a look. “Champagne?”

  
“Uh-uh. Moet Chandon. Probably a gift.” He’s fairly certain that Louis isn’t a wine drinker and it’s unlikely that Harry would buy Champagne just for himself.

  
“Right.” He’s practically standing on top of him as he looks through the contents of the fridge. “Tennents.” He takes out the four pack, separates a can, hands it to him.

  
“Nah, man, don’t fancy it. How about some cider?” He holds on to the can, but waits for Liam to find him a bottle of strong, dry cider. They exchange bottle for can, make their way back to the table.

  
From the distance they can hear the sound of Louis cackling, Harry’s lower tones protesting.

  
“I swear I’d kill Louis if I had to play with him on a regular basis!”

  
Liam smiles, takes a sip of his lager. “Which one, though?”

  
Zayn frowns. “What?”

  
“Which one would you …do? Harry or Louis?” He’s meeting his eye, smirking, but Zayn can tell he’s not completely comfortable with what he’s saying.

  
He pretends to give it some thought, takes a sip of his cider before shrugging – and not answering.

  
Liam quickly starts to say. “Not that it really matters or even-“

  
“Louis.” He raises his eyes, looks directly into Liam's. “I’d fuck Louis.”

  
Liam blinks rapidly, the blush blooming on his cheeks very becoming. “Me too. I’d definitely-“

  
“And I’d want _Harry_ to fuck _me_.”

  
Liam looks like he’s about to swallow his tongue. His skin doesn’t know if it wants to redden in embarrassment or whiten in shock.

  
Zayn kindly tries to help it decide. “I’d want him to put me on my back, wrap my ankles round his neck and fuck me till I couldn’t stand.” He’s still looking into his eyes as he’s speaking, doesn’t break the contact as he raises the bottle to his mouth, wraps his lips around the neck, hollows his cheeks.

  
Liam’s hands are trembling, and his knee accidentally bumps against the underside of the table.

  
Because Zayn is still trying to be helpful he stretches his foot across the small distance separating them, finds Liam’s spread thighs, pushes against his left thigh, then rests his foot on his chair, instep pressed against the hardness of Liam’s crotch. “Course I’d suck him off first, deepthroat him.” He demonstrates with the bottle. “Till he was good and ready, then he’d turn me, put me on all fours and….” He demonstrates with his tongue and he is certain now that Liam’s going to have a fit.

  
To help him along, he stands so Liam can get an eyeful of his crotch, rubs himself, then after running a hand along the length of his hard cock, wraps it around its girth. “Tastes really good,” he whispers, wondering how the fuck he’s going to explain any of this to Harry and Louis; how he’s supposed to be able to stop Liam pulling him across the table, can, bottle spilling, hard hands in his clothes, pulling, ripping; how he’s going to explain how he ends up on his back on their kitchen table, Liam on top of him, a look in his eye he has never in his life seen before; how he’s already making a sound like a bitch in heat and Liam’s only _kissing_ him; how _nothing’s_ going to bring them back...

  
No way in hell to come back from this.

 

 

 


End file.
